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Tibet

In Tibet there are more than 80 wordsto describe states of consciousness,several words to explainthe sound of prayer flagsrustling in a Himalayan breezethat reaches up to the crestof the peaks that lickat the slowly gathering clouds,all of these words never uttered.There are no words in Tibetto describe the soft brush of your lips across my cheek,your hair pressed into my chest.There are no words in Tibetto describe the faint bouquetof soap and morning coffeeas she dries herself slowlyin the mirror that runs along the sinks.There are no words in Tibet to describe the sound of her laughhalf giggle as we watch the kittenroll on her back, paws upreaching for the mote of dustdancing on the heat rising from the fireplace, pressed downby the lazily spinning ceiling fan.There are no words in Tibetto describe her eyes as they dartafter the Monarch that flits abovethe deep purple Sedum that standsin silent prayer to the sun.There are no words in Tibetto describe how she cringesat the sight of the bucklying alongside the roadeviscerated by the fenderof the car, long gone, his hornburied in the shallow dirt.There are no words in Tibetto describe the ripples of her spineas I run my finger down her backwhile she curls, grasping at the margins of sleep.There are no words in Tibetfor all of these, no wordsto fill the room, to blanketthe lumpy mattress on which I sitstaring at the blank screen of the TV, reflecting the neon lightof the 24 hour diner that flashesthrough the gauze curtainsof room 4218 of the Hyatt,merely the echo of another planelifting out of the San Jose airport.

Day one, and they are hunchedover the mat meticulously drawingfaintly on its deep blue surface.Day two and sitting, leaning forwardthey precisely place the first grains of sand.Day three, the same and the picture begins to emergethough they dare not breathe.Day upon day, minute upon minutehours on end they place the sanduntil the almost electric mandalarises off the mat, and even wecan imagine Buddha’s home, only wishing we could enter any of its four gatesand find the compassion within.Today, day six it is done,and they gently sweepall the sand and carry it to the river where its blessingmay go wherever the rivercarries it, and we bid it a sad and joyous farewell.